The silence that followed the collision was a thick, suffocating blanket. Leo Thorne, the lifelong gamer and frustrated office worker, felt the crushing weight of the tractor-trailer vanish, replaced by an impossible stillness. He knew, with the cold certainty of a soul plucked from its vessel, that he was dead.
Yet, he felt… alive. More than alive.
A surge of vibrant, perfect energy coursed through him. Every muscle in his body felt taut, ready, and impossibly capable. He was no longer the soft, desk-bound man he remembered; he was a machine of peak human perfection. His strength, his stamina, his reflexes—all maximized to an absolute extreme, yet feeling completely natural.
System Initializing…
A cool, synthesized voice, private and internal, chimed in the void of his mind.
Welcome, Leo Thorne. You have been successfully transmigrated into your selected world. Primary objective: Survival and Plot Participation.
Designated Role Integration: S.T.A.R.S. Alpha Team (Point Man/Tactical Specialist).
Current Location: Arklay Mountains, Raccoon Forest. Time: July 23, 1998.
Primary Power: Infinite Ammunition. (Applies only to equipped Gold-Plated Premium Dual Desert Eagles, currently concealed).
Secondary Enhancement: Peak Human Body. (Reflexes, Strength, Stamina, and Constitution are maximized—must be used subtly to maintain cover).
Leo's eyes snapped open. He was no longer on asphalt but crammed into the back of a rattling military-grade vehicle, the scent of gasoline, pine, and sweat thick in the air. He was wearing the uniform: the familiar dark blue and tan of a S.T.A.R.S. (Special Tactics And Rescue Service) Alpha Team operative. His standard issue Beretta 92FS (customized M92F "Samurai Edge") was holstered on his hip.
He felt the heavy, comforting weight of his true weapons—the Gold-Plated Premium Dual Desert Eagles—strapped to his inner tactical vest, hidden beneath his jacket. Their infinite power was his secret, his absolute failsafe.
"Thor—Thorne! Snap out of it! We're here."
The rough hand on his shoulder belonged to Chris Redfield, his face a mask of determination and slight impatience.
Leo blinked, his mind instantly catching up with the fabricated reality. He was Leo Thorne, the newest tactical specialist, rushed into Alpha Team just before this disastrous mission. The Humvee had just stopped on the muddy maintenance road, and the atmosphere was thick with unease.
The plot is starting.
Leo's eyes quickly scanned his surroundings: Albert Wesker, his perfect blonde hair immaculate, sat across from him, radiating an icy calm that Leo knew was a terrifying facade. Barry Burton, the towering Weapons Specialist, looked nervous but ready. And then, there was her.
Jill Valentine.
She was stunningly real. Her sharp, intelligent eyes, framed by the iconic dark bob cut, were narrowed in professional focus, the sight of her taking Leo's breath away. He knew her history, her skills, her vulnerability, and her incredible resilience. The rush he felt was instantaneous—a deep, protective, and potent surge of love and destiny.
My first lover. I won't let anything happen to her.
"Clear, Chris," Leo managed, his voice controlled, his enhanced reflexes masking any lingering shock from his transmigration. "Just assessing the area. Quiet. Too quiet."
"Save the platitudes, Thorne," Wesker's cold voice cut in. "We have a missing Bravo Team and a series of gruesome murders to investigate. Move out."
The team disembarked into the oppressive gloom of the Arklay Mountains. The air here was heavy, metallic, and carried the faint, stomach-churning smell of something deeply wrong.
As they moved down the gravel road, the tension ratcheted up, every sound echoing the dreadful anticipation of the survival horror to come.
Then, the discovery. Joseph Frost, the Vehicle Specialist, lay ripped open, his uniform saturated with blood. The discovery was genuinely horrific, the gore immediately present and visceral, far more shocking than any digital approximation.
"Jesus Christ!" Barry exclaimed, pulling back, his face pale.
"What in the hell did this?" Chris muttered, gripping his Samurai Edge.
It was Leo's moment. He was the one who knew the script.
"Not what," Leo said, his voice level and chillingly calm, his eyes scanning the tree line with unnatural speed. "It's who. And they're still hungry."
Before the others could react to his ominous tone, the ground erupted with frantic movement. A pack of Cerberus—T-Virus infected Dobermans—burst from the surrounding forest, their eyes milky white, their jaws slick with foam and bloodlust.
The ambush. The scene of abandonment.
"DOGS!" Jill screamed, instantly raising her Beretta and letting off a controlled burst.
Chaos erupted. The animals were blindingly fast, their infected muscles twitching with unnatural speed. Chris immediately engaged, firing frantically. Wesker pulled his custom handgun, remaining strangely deliberate.
One massive dog lunged directly at Jill.
Leo didn't draw his weapon. Instead, his peak human body moved. In a blur of motion that no one—not even the super-spy Wesker—could truly register, Leo twisted, his foot snapping out in a perfect, impossible side-kick.
The sheer, focused strength of the kick, delivered with perfect technique, caught the dog mid-air, not just knocking it away, but shattering its ribcage with a sickening crunch. The Cerberus flew twenty feet before hitting a tree with a final, wet thud, instantly neutralized.
The S.T.A.R.S. members, focused on the remaining threats, barely noticed the single, devastating impact. They just saw the dog vanish as Leo seamlessly drew his standard-issue Samurai Edge.
He engaged the remaining four dogs. To the others, it looked like extreme, high-stress proficiency. To Leo, it was like shooting fish in a barrel. His reflexes were too fast; his aim too perfect. He wasn't wasting a single, precious S.T.A.R.S. 9mm round.
Pew! Pew-Pew! Pew!
He targeted the center mass, not risking the slower headshots, but firing with such rapid, focused precision that his four shots took down the remaining two threats—a brutal double-tap on each.
"Fall back! To the manor!" Wesker shouted, already running towards the massive, wrought-iron gates, his escape planned.
"Brad, cover us!" Chris yelled into his radio, his face a mixture of adrenaline and confusion.
"Forget it!" Leo roared, his internal knowledge overriding his need for secrecy. He had to be decisive. "He's running! Check the sky!"
Just as Leo spoke, the frantic, panicked whirl of the S.T.A.R.S. helicopter (piloted by the eternally timid Brad Vickers) rose sharply and faded into the dense forest ceiling.
"That damn coward!" Barry cursed, his voice thick with betrayal.
They were alone. Trapped.
Leo took the lead, pushing open the main gates. "We go forward! Now! They'll keep coming! Inside!"
As they sprinted up the gravel path, the tension of the survival horror genre enveloped them. The sight of the massive, looming Spencer Mansion—a monument of architectural grandeur and concealed evil—was a terrible, alluring beacon.
They crashed through the front doors, the sound echoing in the oppressive silence of the entryway.
"Secure the entrance!" Wesker ordered, his eyes already scanning the vast, opulent hall.
They took defensive positions. Leo's heart was hammering, but his breathing was steady. He was here. He was immersed. And he had saved the lives of his future comrades and his future love interest with controlled, yet deadly force.
Jill, her Beretta still smoking, stared at Leo. Her dark bob was plastered to her forehead with sweat, but her eyes were clear and evaluating. She had noticed the extreme proficiency, the impossible power behind that kick. It wasn't just skill; it was something more.
"Thor—Thorne," she said, her voice a little breathless but professional. "That was… extraordinary. You have training I haven't seen before. Where did you learn that kind of close-combat move?"
Leo met her gaze. This was the moment for the love and romance genre to begin its subtle growth.
"It's called survival," Leo replied, his voice low and intense, letting the reality of their situation speak for him. "My life depended on being better than the next guy. Right now, all our lives do."
He subtly patted the heavy, concealed weapons beneath his jacket. The Gold Desert Eagles remained his secret. His cover was intact. He was the extremely skilled, quiet new member of Alpha Team, ready to navigate the labyrinth of the Spencer Mansion, and start his epic, violent, and romantic journey through the Resident Evil timeline. The game had begun.